


Well, That's A Start

by jujubiest



Series: SPN Finale Fix-Its [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant Through 15x19, Dean Fixes It, Fix-It, M/M, Orpheus and Eurydice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27718246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: Dean doesn’t know what to do except what he’s always done: run headlong towards his own destruction.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN Finale Fix-Its [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051256
Comments: 20
Kudos: 147





	Well, That's A Start

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night (well...this morning, at like 4am-ish) in the wake of SPNgate. I’ve been wanting to write a fix-it since 15x20 aired, but from the bottom of the hole that episode put me in I couldn’t see it.
> 
> But last night, well. I didn’t so much climb out of the hole as I was dragged out by the pure swell of rage and joy in the fandom in the wake of the revelation prompted by agusvedder on tumblr posting that video clip. You know the one.
> 
> Then sunforgrace posted a bunch of lovely stuff about Orpheus and Eurydice. And suddenly, I knew what fix-it fic I wanted to write. So I put Dean’s Theme and Wait For Me on repeat, and I wrote it.
> 
> I love this fandom.

Chuck Shurley, a.k.a. Carver Edlund, a.k.a. God wasn't right about much in his long, long life, but he was right about one thing:

Endings are hard.

The longer and more winding the journey, the harder it is to imagine a satisfying way for that journey to end. After all, how many lives can really be summed up in a single high note? How often do we really get any closure from an epilogue?

Maybe you spend your life fighting for a righteous cause. You make mistakes, you break as often as you build. Maybe you find a family and try to hold them close. You learn more about loss than any one person should be able to bear. Maybe you fight the good fight. Maybe you lose.

But what if you win?

What if you slay the dragon, cage the monster, beat the house? What if you go to sleep in a world that's safer, knowing you _made_ it safer?

And what if you wake up to the sun rising over that world, and don't know where you fit into it?

* * *

So Chuck falls, and Jack ascends. God is one with creation and all is right with the world. Except.

Cas is still gone. And Dean...Dean doesn’t know what to do except what he’s always done: run headlong towards his own destruction.

But it's not a hopeless, senseless act of chance, not this time. And it isn’t despair. It's a choice. It all comes down to choices, in the end.

They're free. Dean could move on. He could find a life for himself, outside of hunting or within it, and try to heal, and hope to forget.

But he finds he can't do that. Or, if he’s being honest with himself, he just...doesn't want to. And for the first time in his life, what he wants _matters_.

So he tells Sam he has one more mission.

It's dangerous, maybe even foolish, and it might kill him. There’s no guarantee of success, barely even a hope of it. He still needs to at least try. And if he dies trying, he's sorry. But this is his endgame. This is what he has--no, it's what he _wants_ \--to do.

And Sam...he understands. Of course he understands. He knows what Cas and Dean mean to each other. He saw the look on Dean's face when he told them Cas was gone. He's been expecting this ever since they left Chuck groveling in the dust.

Sam's own journey stretches out in front of him, towards Eileen and the other hunters, all the people Jack brought back, the endless knowledge in the bunker and Rowena's books he's never quite had time to fully explore. He's always loved to bury himself in stacks of books, to search for meaning and understanding and gray where others saw only black and white and _act_ and _kill or be killed_. He's a scholar in his heart, but he's also a hunter. And at last, these are two halves of a whole that is not at war with itself. He can be both of these things. He doesn't have to choose.

But first, he will help Dean, however he can. And he won't make Dean choose, either. Destiny or family. Brother or lover. They will never tear each other apart in the name of these things again, he swears to himself on the spot. He will be there for his brother the way Dean was always there for him. So Sam sits with Dean as he prepares, a steady supportive presence.

They call for Jack, hoping he will still respond. He does, but Jack can't fix it for them. When he was just a wild, newborn nephilim he could do things beyond almost anyone's ken. After all, there is only one rule for a thing that isn't supposed to be allowed to exist, and he broke it the moment he was born. But as the new god, he has rules even he has to obey, at least if he wants to maintain his world's tenuous new sense of balance.

He can't invade the Empty or snatch back her prey, but he can do this, just one thing: he can hold open a door.

It will be up to Dean to convince the Empty to let him have Cas. Up to Dean to see them both safely home.

Dean goes immediately, without fanfare or long goodbyes. He doesn't want the specter of the possibility of failure hanging over him in his family’s worries faces. And, too, he doesn't want to wait. He thinks they've both waited long enough.

His first step into the Empty is like forgetting how to see and hear and breathe, all at once. The Empty is more than darkness, and it's more than cold. It's the complete absence of all things. It's unfinished business and words left unsaid, would’ve, could’ve, should’ve pressing in on all sides. He feels small, in a way he hasn't felt since he was four years old, carrying a crying bundle out of a burning house. He presses through that crushing lack of being, more determined than ever to take Cas away from this place.

He moves quietly as he begins his search, but in a world of nothing any little something makes a deafening noise. It doesn't take long for the Empty to show themselves.

The face they wear time is all-too-familiar.

"Dean Winchester," says the soft, raspy voice in a lilting British accent. "I thought you and yours were topside, living the sweet life now that nepotism is finally working in your favor."

"Nice suit," Dean forces through a throat paralyzed by fear and regret, sarcasm coming to his rescue even now. "I'm here for one thing, and then I'll let you get back to your nap."

"And how can I be of service to you today." Empty-Crowley deadpans.

Dean swallows. Licks his lips. Swallows again.

"Cas," he manages at last. "Castiel. The angel. He's coming home with me."

The Empty sneers in a way that looks out of place on Crowley's tired features.

"Well! Can it be the stoic Dean Winchester has finally deigned to return the syrupy affections of poor, pining Castiel?"

Dean clenches his jaw, but doesn't respond. He doesn't need to. Empty-Crowley reads him like an open book, his vindictive grin widening further.

"How touching," he says, voice dripping with sardonic glee. "If only Castiel could have known. He's dreaming of you here, you know. Dreaming of all the times he let you down. All the moments he wanted to tell you, and didn't. Everything he never got to have."

Dean wants to scream. He wants to attack, use his fists the way he always has, beat the wrongs of the world in front of him until they become right.

But that's never really worked. And he _needs_ this to work. So he swallows his rage and holds out both his hands, palms up.

"Please," he says, softly. It feels like begging, because it is. "Please. I need to take him home."

The Empty just stares at him for several minutes, saying nothing in return.

"If...if you won't let him go, then." Dean's hands fall to his sides. "...Take me to him instead."

At that, The Empty looks at last intrigued.

"Interesting," he says. "Very interesting." A slow smile begins to spread across that face, too wide and wholly unlike Crowley's real smile.

Dean closes his eyes and braces himself for the blow to fall.

 _I'm sorry Sammy_ , he thinks, followed closely by _I’m coming, Cas_.

But the blow never comes, and Dean opens his eyes to see Empty-Crowley examining his nails, feigning boredom.

“Fine,” he says at last, nonchalant. “I never cared about keeping the angel, one way or another. I just wanted some _quiet_ around here. Is that too much to ask? But you and your godforsaken _Castiel_. Do you know how many times he’s woken me up over the years? Everyone else stays in their bunks after lights out, but not him. He wakes up every time. Always the same sad old refrain, too. ‘I have to get back to Dean.’”

The Empty’s voice is thick with mocking, but Dean doesn’t care. He’s still stuck on the revelation that Cas has been here before, that he’s _escaped_ before. That even that was never Chuck at all. It was all Castiel.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with that, so he files it away for later. Much later. When they’re home. He recognizes the first dangerous swell of hope in his chest and tries to tamp down on it, keep it under control in case this is a trick.

The Empty seems to know what he’s thinking. They roll their eyes and turn to stare at a spot on the not-ground that looks like just more nothingness to Dean.

“Castiel,” they say, in a voice that vibrates through Dean’s bones. And he watches, afraid to breathe, as something takes shape within the void. The achingly familiar form of a slight man in a tan trench coat, with tired blue eyes and dark, slightly unkempt hair.

Dean takes a shaky step forward.

“Cas--” he starts, but the Empty holds up a hand to stop him.

“Not so fast,” they say, the bored tone giving way to a sort of gleeful malice. “I have a final test for you. I need to know that if you leave, neither of you will ever darken my doorway again...so to speak.”

“Okay,” Dean says immediately. “Done. No visits, no postcards. Got it.”

The Empty smiles mirthlessly.

“Oh no, it’s not that simple. You see, there’s only one way you can guarantee Castiel will never come here again.”

Dean feels it coming before the blow lands, but he still isn’t ready for it.

“He cannot take his grace with him. That’s mine. It’s what angels have in lieu of souls, and it stays with me. You can keep the human husk.”

Dean wants to argue, wants to say this isn’t fair. Wants to ask Cas what _he_ wants, but Cas doesn’t seem to be able to see or hear anything around him. He’s afraid of what it will do to Cas, living without his grace. He remembers,all too well, a vision of the future: hapless, helpless, hopeless. _I used to belong to a much better club._

But it’s this or an eternity of nothing but being tortured with all of his regrets. And Dean is trying this new thing where he goes after what he wants. So he takes a long moment to search Cas’s face, then he turns back to the Empty.

“Deal,” he says. The Empty’s smile widens, and there’s that vindictive glint again that makes Dean’s stomach churn.

“Good,” they croon. At some point, they stopped looking like Crowley. Dean barely even noticed. He shivers at hearing a voice come out of that rippling darkness.

“That’s just perfect,” they continue. “Now to seal the deal, I need you to turn around, and walk away. Go back through your door, seal it up, and tell your new god to keep his grubby little toddler hands out of my domain, forever.”

“What?” Dean asks, the hope turning to lead in his chest.

“You heard me,” the Empty says. “Turn around and walk away. Don’t look back, and do not speak a word. If Castiel holds true to form--if he loves you as much as you think he does--he will follow you home and leave his grace behind. But for the deal to hold, he has to go willingly...and you cannot look at him, or touch him, or speak to him, or sway him in any way. So...I do hope you got a chance to say everything you needed to say the last time you saw one another.”

Dean grits his teeth, fear and fury and bitter longing, warring for the foremost spot in his heart. But he’s come this far, and he knows of no good way to fight, and no way at all to win. Bargaining is all that’s left to him. Fitting, since it’s the stage of grief he’s always found himself getting stuck in.

It’s a cruel kind of irony, that it all comes down to this, in the end: does Dean Winchester have faith?

He closes his eyes. Thinks of Cas’s face the last time they were together. _Yes_ , he thinks. _Yes, I do_.

Then he turns, and he puts one foot in front of the other, and he walks away from the Empty.

Toward home.

* * *

The journey back seems to take ten times as long as the journey in. And through it all, there’s the crushing uncertainty and the deafening silence radiating from just over his shoulder. Is Cas behind him? If he reached out with one hand, would he meet coarse fabric, something warm and solid...or only air? If he turned, would there be anything to see?

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t _know_. And that it’s his own fault he doesn’t know is just adding insult to self-injury.

He’s never believed. Not in angels, and not in God, and definitely not in mercy. Not that good things could happen. Not that anyone could really love him, much less someone like Cas. He still doesn’t believe, deep down in his heart of hearts, that he deserves it.

But he does believe Cas deserves a chance, a real chance, at happiness. Not one pure crystallized moment around which to build walls and walls of regret for eternity. But real, lasting, messy, imperfect _human_ happiness. And if the cost of that is a few hours of agony for Dean, he will gladly pay it. He’s been through worse, and will go through worse again, if Cas decides that lasting happiness cannot be found in him after all.

If Cas decides he can’t forgive Dean for making such a choice for him. For leaving his grace behind.

It’ll be okay, he tells himself. Because at least Cas will be alive to make that choice.

What already felt like hours seems to stretch into days. Each step gets harder, and each moment he doesn’t know whether Cas is behind him is like thirty years in hell at the mercy of Alistair’s knife.

Alistair. He hasn’t thought of that name in a long time. The very first thing Cas saved him from, but not the last. _I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition._

But he’d done more than that, hadn’t he? Dean remembers his last moments, hellhounds digging into him from all sides. He remembers the note of fear and awe in Bobby’s voice when he said _your chest was ribbons...your insides were slop._

Cas hadn’t just rescued Dean’s soul, he’d also remade his body, the only evidence left behind the mark of his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean reaches up and touches that shoulder, wraps his hand in the fabric of his jacket over the bloody echo of that moment Cas left on him just days ago. He summons every scrap of faith he has, and trudges on.

As time stretches out, Dean finds himself remembering other moments, too. Some make him smile, though the happiness aches in the midst of all this uncertainty. Some make him wince at how oblivious he could be, how thoughtlessly cruel. He tallies up every soft word Cas ever gave him, and every harsh thing he’s ever said in return.

_Cas, you child._

_No one cares that you’re broken._

_You can’t stay.  
_

_Next time I won’t miss._

_Why does that thing always seem to be you?_

_Don’t do this, Cas._

He has a lot to make up for, if this journey ever comes to an end.

It takes a small eternity, but at last. At last, there’s a sliver of something in all the nothing. Light, the familiar warmth-and-dust color of the lights in the bunker. Just a crack at first, then it grows larger, and larger, until he’s standing in front of the door.

He stops. This is it. In front of him, the picture of an empty room, the bunker library. Behind him...behind him....

He takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes. He takes that last step over the threshold, back into the human world.

* * *

For a moment, Dean stands utterly still, afraid to open his eyes. Then something bumps into him from behind, and he nearly falls. But warm arms are around him, steadying him, and he stops breathing. He knows those arms. He knows that warmth. He...

He turns, and sees Cas looking at him with shining, bewildered eyes.

“D--” he starts, but Dean doesn’t give him the chance to complete the word. He wraps Cas up in a hug that cuts off his breath. Cas returns the hug, but Dean can feel the hesitancy in his touch, and his heart sinks.

Reluctantly, far too soon, he draws back and looks into Cas’s face.

“I...the Empty made a deal. To let you leave, but...but not your grace.”

“I know,” Cas says. His eyes are less confused now, filled with something else instead. Something like...hurt?

“Thank you for coming for me,” he says. “I know you don’t want me to stay, and I understand, but still--”

“Now just hold on a second,” Dean interrupts. “What do you mean, I don’t want you to stay? Are you serious? Cas, why do you think--”

“Because,” Cas interrupts in his turn, and it feels like things are spinning out of control here, like they’re both rushing toward some awful conclusion that neither of them wants. Dean’s head is spinning.

“Because you...you never turned around. The entire time, you wouldn’t even look at me. I understand...what I said, just before...I knew when I said it. I just.”

Cas isn’t making any sense, and then he’s making perfect sense even as his words grow more jumbled and trail off into nothing. A fresh surge of rage sweeps through Dean. Rage at every high-and-mighty primordial piece of shit that has ever played with him, with Cas, with Sam, just for the fun of watching them bleed.

“That...” He’s so angry he can barely speak. “He said if I turned around you couldn’t leave. He said if I said a _word_ , touched you, anything...you’d be stuck there forever. He said I had to take it on _faith_ that you...that you...”

 _That you loved me enough to follow me_ , he can’t quite bring himself to say. But understanding had dawned on Cas’s face, replacing the hurt with a wash of anger to match his own.

“The Empty said that I could leave, but told me...they said there was nothing for me here. That I should think long and hard about whether it wouldn’t be less painful to just...to go back to sleep.”

“Sonofabitch set us up to fail,” mutters Dean. But it’s dawning on him: they didn’t fail. They made it out, both of them. Cas is _here._ He’s _alive._

But something in his eyes is still wrong, and Dean realizes what it is with a burst of insight that leaves him reeling again. Uncertainty. Cas still doesn’t know how he feels, where they stand. Because he, Dean, waited too damn long to tell him.

He can’t take revenge on the Empty for all the pain they caused, but this...this, he can fix.

“Cas,” he starts. “What you said to me...before you...”

Cas doesn’t answer. Doesn’t rush to correct or negate or reaffirm. He just gazes at Dean with that same look on his face. That looks that says _I’m happy just to stand here and love you, even if it hurts that you don’t love me back_.

And that breaks something in Dean. Some dam or wall disintegrates, and he finds himself reaching out to pull Cas in with both hands, so close that their faces are almost touching.

“You were so convinced,” he says. “That you could never have me. Don’t you understand?” He’s pleading again, and he doesn’t stop to think about what it says that his pride falls away completely when it comes to Cas. “Don’t you get that you deserve so much better than me?”

Cas’s hands close over Dean’s where they’re knotted in the lapels of his coat. There’s so much right there, naked and open in his eyes. Dean almost can’t bear it. Dean never wants to look away.

“Don’t you understand,” Cas echoes softly. “That you are the one I choose?”

Dean lets out a sound that might be a sob, or might be a laugh. He doesn’t know. He just knows that Cas--his best friend, his savior in so many ways, and so much more--is here. He’s here, and there’s no puppet master looming over their heads, waiting to spring the next trap.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s ridiculous, how easy it slips out. It could have been this easy, he thinks distantly, all along. But he pushes that aside. They left regret behind them, in the vastness of the Empty.

Cas’s eyes are shining, with tears but also now with joy. And Dean knows that everything else is going to work itself out. _They_ will work it out.

Together.


End file.
